


Business 101

by feverbeats



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert has only been eighteen for two days when he gets bored enough with everything else in his life to make a move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Business 101

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kirstenlouise for help_japan.

Robert has only been eighteen for two days when he gets bored enough with everything else in his life to make a move.

 _Make a move,_ at this particular moment, means going into Peter Browning’s office and saying, “Let’s fuck.”

Uncle Peter (yes, Robert _knows_ , thanks) raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I think we should fuck,” Robert repeats, his voice dripping with boredom and listlessness. Just in case it was unclear how desperate his situation is. “God, _please_ , all I’ve had this week are board meetings for boards I’m not even on.”

And because Peter is the one person in the world who understands Robert, he says, “Let me clear my schedule.”

*

Forty-three minutes later, Robert is back in Peter’s office, twisting his tie nervously. Normally he’d be too _bored_ to be nervous, and the last thing he wants to do is wrinkle a tie, but he has a hunch that this might be a necessary step in getting both of them off. (He’s stopped just short of flow-charts. He has better things to do with his time than plan this. Like shop.)

“You’re back,” Peter says. He shifts a stack of papers to the side, an entirely meaningless gesture, as his desk is obsessively organized. But it’s a hint of things to come, just like the tie in Robert’s hands.

“Right on time,” Robert says carelessly. He gave Peter just enough time to get excited about it, but not enough to decide it wasn’t worth Maurice’s potential wrath. But that is not Robert’s problem.

“Not quite.” Peter stands and circles the desk, not at all like a hungry panther (Robert would like to imagine it otherwise, however). He leans against the front of the desk and puts one hand on Robert’s hip. Easy, proprietary, no hesitation. Oh, they’re going to be just _fine_ , Robert decides.

He leans into Peter’s touch only slightly, the expensive fabric of his pants crumpling under Peter’s fingers.

“Good,” Peter mutters under his breath, leaving Robert wide open to interpret that as _well done_ or _god this is good_.

Robert angles his slim body toward Peter, licking his lips in feigned self-consciousness. “Do you want to touch me?”

Peter smiles, easy and slow, and this time he _does_ look like a panther. “I’ll touch you when I’m ready.”

Robert shudders, full-on, genuine, and entirely unexpected. He suddenly feels as though the pictures on the walls are watching them. “Fair enough,” he says, but his voice breaks.

Peter brings one finger up to Robert’s lips, perhaps to shush him, and Robert eyes flutter closed without his permission. God, at this rate he’ll be weak-kneed and begging for it in five minutes. That thought doesn’t help the situation.

“You’re so pretty,” Peter says, tracing Robert’s lips. “So fucking pretty.”

And yeah, it’s always been like that, always _pretty_ and never handsome, but if that’s what Robert’s being asked to take, he’ll take it. He’ll take it and learn to like it, just like everything else in his life. His father wants him to become a business mogul? Take that, learn to like that. Sucking his adoptive uncle’s dick and being told he’s pretty like a girl is attractive in comparison. (Hell, it might be attractive even without the comparison. Robert is pretty bad at knowing what he likes when it’s not about material goods.)

Peter forces a finger into Robert’s mouth roughly, parting his lips. “Suck on it,” he mutters. “There’s a good boy.”

Robert obliges, trying not to show the spike of heat that’s shot through him.

“Good. Good girl.”

Robert nearly cries out, and he does bite down. God, that’s—yeah. Peter grips the back of Robert’s head and forces him to suck harder, his tongue wet against Peter’s skin. His fingers tighten and tangle in the hair at the nape of Robert’s neck, holding him in place. Robert whimpers around the finger in his mouth.

“Oh, you like that.” Peter palms him through his jeans, and it’s all Robert can do not to let his knees buckle. All the backbone his father has always accused him of lacking comes out in the bedroom, and it comes out as _stubbornness_.

Something Robert will never do is call Peter “daddy,” but the implication is clear. “Uncle” is close enough when Robert is feeling half his age and a little concerned.

“Come here.” Peter pulls away from Robert and looks at him. Then he grabs Robert’s tie and leads him around the painfully expensive hardwood desk to his chair.

Peter sits, settling back into the equally expensive chair and looking as though he knows _exactly_

 _Has Peter thought about this?_ Robert wonders. _If he has, how much?_ He’s already hard, and it’s all he can do not to rub against Peter at the thought of how much Peter wants this, how _ready_ he is to _take_ it.

“Across my lap,” Peter says. His tone is still so casual, as if this is an everyday occurrence for him.

Robert swallows and does as he’s told. Whatever else this is, it isn’t exactly a game. It also isn’t boring.

He tries not to squirm when he’s bent over Peter’s knee, feeling Peter run his hand over his ass. Robert’s always prided himself on his ass (and he’s been told by enough men in his life that it’s excellent), so he pushes against Peter’s hand a little, eager, but still casual. Robert has all the self-control in the world. It’s about the only thing he’s got.

What he’s not prepared for, though, is the flush of heat that comes when Peter pushes Robert’s shirt up and touches skin. Robert’s given up on wearing undershirts in the summer, even if the too-thin material of his shirts does sometimes reveal his nipples. He wonders if Peter’s noticed, and he squirms across his lap.

Peter’s hands ghost over the small of Robert’s back, gently touching, not giving him nearly enough. “Your skin is so soft,” Peter mutters.

Satisfaction crashes through Robert when Peter pinches his skin viciously without warning. He catches his breath loudly enough that Peter can certainly hear it.

“Come on, pet,” Peter says, and he shoves a finger into Robert’s mouth. Robert is tempted to laugh, half amused and half turned-on, but he sucks Peter’s finger instead. Peter works his finger in and out of Robert’s mouth, his other hand still pressing against Robert’s back. “Good, yes,” he says under his breath, and Robert tries not to let the praise feel too necessary.

When Peter slaps his ass, Robert bites down on Peter’s finger in surprise, muffling a cry.

“We can’t have that,” Peter says sternly. “You keep still and you keep quiet.” He hooks his hand against Robert’s jaw, finger still in his mouth, holding him in place. Before Robert can protest, Peter is smacking his ass over and over again, with what feels like the full force of his strength. Pain snaps through Robert before he can catch his breath, and by the time Peter stops, there are tears in Robert’s eyes and he’s whining around Peter’s finger.

“ _Good_ ,” Peter says under his breath, and finally his voice is rough, too.

Robert squirms, rubbing his cock against Peter’s lap, searching for friction. All he wants is to be naked and devastated; he doesn’t usually have to _fight_ for that. “God, I want to be naked,” he hears himself say. So much for self-control. Usually a line like that is _calculated_.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Peter says. He slides his hands under Robert’s body and undoes his belt, shoving his pants halfway down. He brings his hand up to caress Robert’s ass, which is going to be covered in bruises tomorrow.

The feeling of Peter’s calloused hands on him is almost too much, and Robert shoves against his body again, rocking his hips in shallow little motions.

“No,” Peter snaps, slapping Robert again.

Robert gasps raggedly. “Oh, _God_. Yeah, sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry.” He ducks his head to mouth the leg of Peter’s trousers, wondering if he can muffle his idiotic words if he bites down. He feels stripped down and he hasn’t even come yet.

He hears the sound of Peter’s desk drawer opening, and he risks glancing up to see Peter slicking his fingers with lube from a small bottle. Who the hell keeps lube in his _desk?_ Well, besides Robert.

Peter presses one finger against Robert’s entrance. “Do you want my fingers inside you, beautiful? Do you want me to give it to you till you come crying like a bitch?”

“God, yes.” Robert’s voice breaks embarrassingly on the _yes_ , but that might be a good thing, because Peter’s cock is hard under him. Robert presses against it and whimpers, “Give it to me hard.” All his dialogue comes from porn, but he doesn’t care.

Peter pushes one finger inside him, too fast to be comfortable. His other hand falls to the back of Robert’s neck, tangling hard in his hair. Robert is torn between bucking back against Peter’s fingers and pushing himself forward against Peter’s legs. With Peter’s hand on his neck, though, all he can do is jerk weakly back and forth.

He doesn’t always have good days, especially lately. His father is becoming increasingly insistent that he do well in business school (he’s in his first year and all he’s done so far is get drunk a lot), and there’s no one his own age who interests him. So he’ll take his good days where he can get them, sprawled across Peter’s lap being fingered like a whore.

He could view this as a negotiation. He could also view it as getting fingered by his uncle.

“Talk to me,” Peter says. “Tell me how this makes you feel.”

“Good—” Robert’s breath catches and stutters. “God, it feels so good. I want it harder. Oh, take me, _take me_ , take care of me—”

Then Peter slides another finger in, fucking him hard and fast while he plays with Robert’s hair. “You gonna come for me, you pretty little bitch?” he spits.

That leaves Robert practically sobbing, rubbing himself off against Peter’s lap. He feels himself losing control, wanton and awful, as all the perfectly knotted tension in him shatters filthy and easy in Peter’s hands.

When he collects himself and slides off Peter’s lap onto the floor, Peter quickly unzips his own pants and jerks his cock quickly one or twice, fingers still slick with lube. On instinct, Robert leans forward and rubs his cheek against Peter’s cock.

Peter groans in the back of his throat and starts to come, pushing the end of his cock against Robert’s mouth and letting Robert taste him. Robert shuts his eyes and opens his mouth, clinging to the cuff of Peter’s pants.

When Peter is done, he doesn’t turn away as Robert thought he might. Instead, he drops one hand to Robert’s head and ruffles his dark curls. “You’re beautiful.”

Robert gets to his feet shakily, clearing his throat. “I know.” What else can he say? If he shows Peter how much it matters—That’s just not an option. He reaches down to pull up his slacks, feeling ridiculous and exposed, by every possible definition.

When he’s done putting himself together, though, Peter is still watching him. Still smiling. He hasn’t gone back to paperwork and a world that has nothing to do with Robert.

Robert gives a slightly hiccupping laugh. “I look like I just got fucked,” he complains, combing a hand through his hair. He can’t walk back out there and face his father’s colleagues looking like this.

Peter smiles. “You always look like you just got fucked.” If it’s not exactly a nice thing to say, at least it’s not exactly mean.

Robert nods and heads for the door. “See you at the meeting this evening.” If he keeps playing his cards right, he could build something truly stupendous out of this. It’s too bad he can’t apply the same techniques to business.


End file.
